


Darkwing: First Darkness Premiere

by roruna



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roruna/pseuds/roruna
Summary: What if Dewey hadn't taped over the fight between Drake Mallard and Jim Starling? Darkwing: First Darkness can finally premiere but Drake can't enjoy his Big Break considering that it cost his childhood hero his life. Then on the night of the premiere, he'll get the shock of his life. Darkwing Duck doesn't stay down.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 56





	Darkwing: First Darkness Premiere

Boorswan rummaged through the set's wreckage. 

"That was the perfect end, the hero fighting his dark id in a cleansing rain," he exclaimed. 

His hand closed around a familiar bit of plastic. The flash drive!

"Yes!"

He scrambled to the nearest monitor, as if the footage would disappear if he didn't watch it in time. He plugged in the flash drive. For a moment, his heart sank as the first footage was of McDuck's ridiculous nephew dancing in front of a green screen. 

"He taped over it?" He croaked.

But then the dance footage stopped. 

_ "I've lost… the ability to lose to a two-bit ten watt dim bulb like you!" _

Boorswan couldn't believe it. He stood in a daze, watching and rewatching the whole savage fight, cutting just as the electric tower fell, barely missing Mallard and that McDuck employee but crushing Starling. Every time, he was moved to tears.

"He was so good…" he sniffled. "I've never seen any actor display that much raw brutality on screen."

McDuck wandered to his side.

"Still no sign of Starling, not that you care," he grumbled. 

"This is the perfect end for my movie," Boorswan said.

"So we can actually salvage this fiasco?" McDuck asked. "That's a relief. But you're done shooting! You cannae waste another dime filming. You get the movie out with whatever footage you already have!"

"Fine," Boorswan said. "I don't care. This was all I needed. Editing can fix the rest."

Drake Mallard and Launchpad McQuack sat despondent in Drake's trailer. They were still drenched and slightly singed. 

"This isn't how I imagined meeting my hero," Drake said. 

"This is the first time I've ever seen him without fainting so this was an improvement," Launchpad replied. 

Drake smiled, barely chuckling. 

"I'm glad you got through to him before the end," Drake said. "He sacrificed himself for us…"

"Yeah, he really looked out for his fans," Launchpad said, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. 

The trailer door flew open suddenly. 

"Alright, you! You're done shooting so clean out my trailer and get out!" McDuck shouted. "Security will be checking your stuff so don't think you'll get away with stealing any props."

Drake and Launchpad were already standing at attention and saluting. 

"Y-yes, Mr. McDuck," Drake replied. 

"Well, I'll see you at the premiere-" McDuck started. 

"Premiere?" Drake and Launchpad exclaimed together. 

"You're still showing the movie?" Drake asked. 

"You bet your ballast, I am, Sonny Jim," McDuck replied. "I've got to make back some of the money I wasted on this trainwreck. I sent Boorswan home to salvage this thing."

"Huh?" Drake asked. 

"What? I'm not letting him keep working in my studio. He can finish up in his home office using his own electricity," McDuck said. "Come on, Launchpad. I need to go home and warm up my old bones with some nutmeg tea."

"You got it, Mr. McDee," Launchpad replied. He hesitated at the door and looked at Drake. "I had fun today, apart from our idol going crazy and trying to kill everyone."

"Me too," Drake said. 

"You know, I recorded every episode of Darkwing Duck. We could have a marathon sometime," Launchpad suggested. 

"Oh! Yeah, totally. I'll bring my action figures," Drake offered. 

"Alright," Launchpad agreed. 

Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he, Boorswan and McDuck watched the final cut of the darkwing duck movie. He knew the movie wasn't going to be like the old show but now, the movie itself was a microcosm of what happened to Jim. Bleak and disturbing. 

The movie ended and the lights switched on.

"Thoughts?" Boorswan asked. 

"I still think the bad guy needed a twirlier mustache," McDuck said. 

"It's pretty much what I imagined," Drake mumbled. 

"Yes, Starling's performance really brought my vision to life," Boorswan preened.

Drake's stomach was in knots. Jim Starling was worn down and eventually discarded by showbiz. He didn't even get a call for a cameo and now Boorswan was talking as if they'd collaborated all along. 

"So why isn't his name in the credits?" Drake suddenly demanded. 

"Oh yes, of course, we can add his name to the credits," Boorswan said. 

"His name should be on all the promo stuff too. He was practically my co-star," Drake insisted with growing conviction. 

"We cannae reprint all the posters! I've lost enough money as it is," McDuck objected. 

"You can take the money out of my paycheck. I don't care," Drake snapped. 

It took some digging but Drake finally found Jim's home address. It was a dingy studio apartment in the sketchiest part of town and Drake wished that surprised him. 

"Doing furniture store openings was hardly going to bring in McDuck money," he said to himself. 

"What was that, pal?" the landlord asked. 

"Nothing," he replied. 

When they reached Jim's apartment, the door was already open. Drake stepped in front of the landlord, almost shielding him. 

"I'll take it from here," Drake said. "You should probably get out of here."

"Whatever, the place is yours 'til the end of the month," the landlord replied before strolling away. 

Drake balled his fists as he crossed the threshold and kept his knees slightly bent. If Jim was back, anything could happen. A tall and familiar figure stepped into view. Launchpad. 

"Oh, it's you," Drake breathed relief. "What are you doing here? How'd you get into Jim's place?"

"He left all his stuff in the trunk when he changed into his costume," Launchpad answered. "I uh… wanted to get his affairs in order, you know?"

"Yeah," Drake answered. "Me too. So um… what's left?"

"Just moving stuff out. Everything's boxed up," he said. 

"Taking it to his family?" Drake asked. 

"I couldn't find any," Launchpad said. "His phone only had one number that wasn't a pizza or Chinese food place, his agent's and he said that he didn't know of any family, just a couple of ex-wives that wouldn't want anything to do with him."

Again, Drake wished he was surprised. 

"We can't be the only ones that cared about him?" Drake pleaded. 

It wasn't right that a couple of man children who only ever talked to him long enough to get an autograph and a selfie were the only people who cared about Jim Starling, the only people who'd missed him. 

"I'm sure we're not," Launchpad reassured him. "Once people see his obituary in the paper, I'm sure they'll flock to Mr. McDee's place. Oh, Mr. McDee said we could have a memorial service at the mansion."

"At least you can give him a classy send-off," Drake said. "I couldn't even get a death certificate. The coroner said he won't sign one without… any remains. And the bank won't close his accounts without one."

Drake and Launchpad sat on Jim's stained and saggy couch. They both let out a miserable breath. 

"What are you going to do with his stuff?" Drake asked. 

"I was thinking about keeping it but that feels kinda… gross, you know?" Launchpad answered. 

Drake nodded. "I think so. I wouldn't mind taking something but it makes me feel like a vulture. Besides, do we have a right to any of this? It's not like we're next of kin."

"But if we leave it, it'll just get thrown out," Launchpad reminded him. "We could put everything in storage until someone else asks for it. There's plenty of space at Mr. McDee's."

"You really have a handle on this," Drake said, a smile daring to creep across his bill. "And I've just been feeling sorry for myself."

"Oh I've been doing that too," Launchpad laughed. "I'm also in deep denial about Jim going crazy and trying to kill everyone."

"Same," Drake agreed. "I think everyone is. Boorswan's acting like the whole thing was some genius ad-lib. The uh… movie's still coming out, by the way. It ends with that whole… you know."

"That's kinda… gross," Launchpad noted.

"I know, right?" Drake said. "Like literally the last scene is someone's actual, real life breakdown and death! It's like… how is that legal? Meanwhile Boorswan acts like this is art and Mr. McDuck only cares about making his money back. I should have told them to take my name off the credits and thrown my paycheck in their faces."

"So why didn't you?" Launchpad asked. 

"Because I like to eat food and sleep indoors," Drake quipped. With a more bitter tone, he added, "I thought I was brave but I guess confronting a maniac with a chainsaw isn't as brave as I thought it was if I only did it in a spur of the moment. If I really was brave, I'd tell McDuck to keep his money, demand my name be taken out of the credits and do everything I could to stop the movie from being released."

"I don't know about that," Launchpad said. "Not everyone has an instinct for running towards danger. Even if you're making grown up compromises, I still think you're brave."

"I'm an idiot who hasn't done anything with his life. You know what else sucks? Even while I miss Jim and wish he hadn't died, there's this part of me that's worrying that I'll end up like him," Drake admitted. 

"Loss makes all of us confront our mortality. It's uncomfortable to be reminded that we are not eternal so it's inevitable to reflect on our own lives and ask ourselves what sort of legacy we'll leave behind," Launchpad said. 

It was a shame that Mr. McDuck or the children weren't there to witness Launchpad's insight. They probably would have enjoyed it. 

"And torturing yourself with guilt isn't going to bring Jim back or undo the misery he went through," Launchpad reminded him. "He wasn't a helpless victim in all this. He made his choices and they led him on his path. You can still take lessons from his life. He taught us to keep getting up no matter how many times life knocks you down. But he also taught me to trust my own instincts and my own moral compass."

"That's a good lesson," Drake said. 

"And you know what I think he's teaching you?" Launchpad prompted. 

"Probably not the usual 'believe in yourself and you can do anything' bit," Drake joked. 

Launchpad rubbed his chin, suddenly thinking carefully about Drake's snark. Drake shook his head. 

"I think," he started more seriously, "he's teaching me not to let my pride run wild. Pride kept him from sharing the cape. And I'm just guessing here but I don't think pride did him any favors before that. And pride… got him killed."

Drake's eyes watered. He wiped his eyes roughly with the heel of his hand. 

"He didn't have anyone in the world," he croaked. "I thought he was the coolest person in the world, I wanted to be just like him, I did everything to be just like him. How can this not be my future?"

Launchpad put a hand on Drake's shoulder. He patted it awkwardly. The words "there, there" hung in the air unsaid. But as suddenly as Drake broke down, his mood bounced back up again. He stood up, his face set with determination. 

"Let's get this stuff out of here," he decreed. 

Launchpad just looked at him for a moment. Applying Jim's lesson for him, Launchpad suspected that for all of Drake's determined smiling, he wasn't actually feeling any better. 

Launchpad's suspicion was confirmed a few days later at Jim Starling's memorial. He didn't think many people would show up but what really surprised him was that Drake was nowhere to be found. Only the McDuck household attended the memorial. 

"I'm sorry, lad," Mr. McDuck said in that resilient yet paternal tone of his. "You didnae know him long but I know Starling meant the world to you. Did you want to say a few words?"

Launchpad nodded. He stepped in front of the garage door. A huge poster of Darkwing Duck concealed the hole that Launchpad had been meaning to fix, he just hadn't gotten 'round to it yet. Launchpad looked from the poster to the McDuck household and back to the poster. Just what was he going to say? What would Jim want him to say? What should he say?

"I know I've said before that Darkwing Duck taught me to keep getting up, no matter how many times I fall. But that lesson didn't stick until I got older. When I was a kid, there was only Darkwing and he was my hero. But eventually I learned the difference between fiction and reality and I saw the man under the mask. Sure Darkwing Duck always got up but that's just a story. Someone very smart and probably very rich wrote the story that way. But it wasn't just Darkwing getting up when the bad guys beat him up. Jim Starling was getting up after really dangerous stunts even when they went wrong. Darkwing Duck brought out the best part of him but without Jim, I don't think Darkwing would have reached as deep into my heart as he did. But there's more to Darkwing Duck than unshakable determination. And there was so much more to Jim Starling too. He was… when he cared about something, he made any sacrifice. He cared about his work, a man doesn't break as many bones as he did if he didn't care. And I like to think that as angry as he was, he cared about his fans too."

There was only silence when Launchpad finished. No one even clapped politely and the silence wasn't even the silence of grief. There was no sniffling or noses blown. 

Only one person responded to that eulogy like a mourner. Up above, hidden among the McDuck manor spires, sat Drake Mallard. He wore dark clothes as you'd expect of a mourner. He also wore a broad brim purple hat and a cape, which you wouldn't expect from a mourner but would expect from someone who modeled his life after a broody superhero. His shoulders were hunched and his head was tucked in. Wrapped in the cape and topped with the hat, Drake looked like a purple chimney stack.

He'd listened intently as Launchpad spoke and when he was finished, Drake had to blow his nose with the corner of his cape. It's not like it was his 25th anniversary limited edition replica cape or even the cape from his film costume. Mr. McDuck had been very serious about not letting him take home any props. This was the cape he wore to comic book conventions. It was made to handle a lot and was machine washable. 

It wasn't long before people went back inside. Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley remained a little longer to clean up and soon they were gone too. Now Drake was a weirdo sitting on someone's roof. Not that he hadn't been one the whole time but the fact didn't hit him until then. 

Getting down from the roof was trickier than climbing up. For one thing, it had been daylight. But now the sun had set and he couldn't quite remember what footholds he'd used to climb up. 

"At least it's not raining," he said to himself. 

It started raining. 

"Of course," he groaned. "But that's ok. You took lots of takes of scaling a skyscraper in the rain."

However, there is a difference between a familiar movie set only ten feet up with a thick mat underneath and a roof with loose shingles that Scrooge McDuck is too cheap to fix. It's not like anyone lived in that part of the house anyway. It was only a matter of time before Drake put all his weight on an unattached shingle and fell.

Thankfully, the rain and thunder muffled his screaming as he fell and hit every ledge and gutter on the way down. He laid in a puddle of muddy water, staring up at gloomy rain clouds.

"At least, I didn't wear my limited edition, officially licensed costume," he said before getting up. 

A few more days later and it was the night of the premiere. Film critics got to see an early screening and there was already chatter about award nominations; best director, best adapted screenplay, best actor,  _ best picture _ . This really had been Drake's big break. He tugged at his bowtie. 

Drake's anxiety only worsened when someone sat down beside him and it was Launchpad.

"Oh it's you," he said. 

He meant to sound pleased. The words were meant to have a 'hey, twenty dollars!' tone. The tone didn't sound that way to his ears.

"I mean," he fumbled. "How you doing… buddy…"

It suddenly occurred to Drake that they hadn't been formally introduced. 

"Launchpad McQuack," he offered. "Mr. McD's chauffeur and pilot."

"Drake Mallard," he replied. "Actor and destroyer of childhood heroes."

"Huh, never heard of you before," Launchpad said. "What other stuff have you been in?"

"Just infomercials," Drake said. "I was Guy With Too Many Pots And Pans."

That gig involved opening a kitchen cupboard and being crushed by an avalanche of cookware. 

"Guy Who Can't Clean Rain Gutters."

Required falling off a ladder, obviously. 

"And Guy Hanging Up Picture Frame."

He gets electrocuted. It makes sense if you watch it. 

"Fancy," Launchpad said.

The lights went down. Just after the McDuck Studios vanity plate, a single line of white text appeared across a black screen that read:

_ "For Jim. You were an inspiration." _

Was that too familiar? Would it have been better to write 'in memory of James Starling'? 'In loving memory'? Well, it's not like Jim was around to respond like he had the last time Drake had tried to tell him what he meant to him. The words "Darkwing First Darkness" appeared on screen next. Fire formed along within the first D.

"Does it really start with Darkwing burning the city?" Launchpad whined into Drake's ear.

"It's not supposed to…" Drake said. 

The hole formed by the fire grew as the image changed to a shot of a bridge over dark water. 

"That's not supposed-" Boorswan was heard whispering before the roar of a chainsaw coming to life cut him off. The chainsaw cut off the bottom half of the movie screen too. 

"I couldn't decide between burning down the theater or chopping it to bits," cackled a voice back from the dead. "But then I thought, treat yourself! _ Do both!" _

Jim Starling, now dressed in a tattered yellow and red version of his old costume, laughed like only an evil supervillain could. 

"Jim!" cried Drake and Launchpad together, jumping to their feet.

The theater curtains caught fire behind Jim. He pulled the chainsaw cord, briefly drowning out the sound of people screaming. The terrified audience ran for the back of the theater. 

"The door's locked!" Someone shouted.

"Of course," Jim growled. "I had to barricade the doors from outside. I couldn't have folks leaving before the show's over!"

"Jim, please don't do this!" Drake shouted, already running towards the chainsaw wielding maniac. 

"Jim?" Jim echoed. "Why didn't you hear? Jim Starling  _ died.  _ When he was shooting his last movie.  _ So sad.  _ And just when it looked like his career was reviving too."

Drake hesitated. Was he doing that egomaniac speaking in the third person thing or did he really think he was a different person? Faint coughs brought him back to reality. He looked up. There were sprinklers on the ceiling and a thick layer of smoke surrounded them. They should have gone off by now. 

"What did you do to the sprinkler system?" Drake demanded. 

"Nothing, I cut the water for the whole building," Jim bragged. 

Best to focus on getting people out of here then. Drake inched towards one of the exit doors. 

"So now what, Jim? Just going to do the same role as last time? You'll get typecast if you aren't careful," Drake said. 

"Any casting is better than none," he replied. "If you weren't such a hack you'd know that."

Out of nowhere, Drake noticed that Jim seemed much happier than the last time he'd seen him. He shook out the thought. He stood in front of an exit door. 

"If I'm such a hack how come I'm getting nominated for Best Actor and not you?" Drake called back. 

That did it. It worked exactly as Drake had hoped. Jim lost his temper. He revved the chainsaw as he ran towards him. Drake just managed to roll out of the chainsaw's path before it tore into the blocked door. Trying to pull the chainsaw free tore the door enough that someone could squeeze through. It wasn't much but it'd have to do. 

"Launchpad!" Drake yelled. "Clear the exits!"

Launchpad was still inside giving audience members a boost as they struggled to climb through the gap in the doors. 

"You got it," he replied. 

Drake knew he could trust Launchpad to remove the barricades and get people out. It was a weight off his shoulders. Then the literal weight of charred theater curtains landed on top of him. 

This made no one happy. Between trapped smoke and the heaviness of the curtains, it was almost impossible to breathe. At the same time, the curtains' folds and billows meant that Jim kept attacking nothing under the curtain.

"Come outta there, you little twerp!" Jim roared. 

A massive shadow appeared on the screen. 

_ "I am the terror that flaps in the night!"  _

An all too familiar figure stood in front of the still running projector. 

_ "I am the sticky floor slowing down the feet of crime!" _

"Well that's just idiotic," Jim said.

_ "I am Darkwing Duck!"  _ darkwing said, jumping off the projection porthole.

"Better than last time," Jim said. "You should always keep the intro relevant to the case."

"Now you give me pointers." Darkwing Duck grumbled. 

"It's easier to be a mentor when you have your own thing going on," Jim admitted. 

He revved the chainsaw's engine for emphasis. Then he charged at him. By this time, the theater was empty. Launchpad had cleared the fire exits and only the two masked mallards remained inside. 

“Jim,” Darkwing coughed. “Please, you gotta stop. At this rate all that’s going to happen is that we’ll both die.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jim chuckled. “No one missed me and aren’t heroes supposed to sacrifice their lives?”

“Not needlessly,” Darkwing said. “And who said no one missed you? Launchpad threw you a funeral at a swanky mansion, he even paid for an announcement in the paper.”

“Not like you showed. You’re my nemesis, you should have been there bawling you stone-cold-”

Burning ceiling tiles fell between Darkwing and Jim. Jim made one last swing with the chainsaw before turning and running out of the theater. Of course, Darkwing Duck followed after him.

Darkwing Duck ran past the gathered fire trucks outside the theater and ignored the police and paramedics when they tried to slow him down. 

“Jim?” He called, wrestling out of a police officer’s grip. 

“Sir, I need you to go to the ambulance,” Detective Cabrera insisted, grabbing his cape.

“I have to find Jim,” he argued. 

He caught a brief flash of red and yellow in his periphery.  _ Jim!  _ He ran from Detective Cabrera. He ran down the street and was only sure that he’d actually seen Jim when he tripped over a discarded chainsaw at the bottom of a fire escape. 

Darkwing heard Jim before he saw. As he climbed the stairs, he heard painful coughing and hacking. In the light of day, no longer obstructed by smoke, the sight of Jim Starling was shocking. 

He looked  _ feral.  _ The costume was mostly red and yellow but there were still hints of purple on the frayed edges of the fabric. The phrase “Crazy Eyes” came almost instantly to Darkwing’s mind. Jim  _ definitely  _ had Crazy Eyes™. His feathers were dingy and not just because of the smoke. Darkwing alternated between feeling nervous and sorry for him. 

“Jim…” Darkwing said.

“Dorkwing,” Jim retorted.

“Ok, you burned down the theater and ruined the premiere,” Darkwing said. “You got what you wanted. How about you turned yourself in now?”

“I never get what I want,” Jim hissed, mostly to himself. 

“Then what do you want?” Darkwing asked.

“I want you to be worm food,” he replied.

“And that’ll fix everything?” Darkwing scoffed. “That’ll restore your reputation and revive your career and bring you throngs of fans?”

“It will certainly make me famous,” Jim sneered. 

“C’mon, Jim, you’re sick and I don’t just mean being crazy pants,” he said. “Where have you been all this time? Definitely not in your apartment. Have you been hiding under the studio like a rabid racoon? When did you eat last? Have you even slept since we saw each other?”

“What are you, my mother?” Jim asked. 

"And what are you even going to do after this?" Darkwing asked, ignoring Jim's question. "You just going to be on the run from the cops forever?"

“This  _ costume  _ is older than you are and you’re  _ lecturing me?”  _ Jim snarled. “Or are you just asking so you know what to do next?”

“Huh?” 

_ “I modeled my entire life after yours.  _ Just because I’m older than you, doesn’t mean I’m deaf,” Jim said. “You got this whole ‘single white hen’ thing going on and you didn’t think I’d notice? Same haircut, same job, same  _ part.  _ You’ve been copying everything I do your whole life, you little weirdo. And congratulations, you will end up just like me. Showbiz is not kind. You’re getting heaps of praise now but fans are fickle. They’ll forget about you in 6 months and you’ll spend the rest of your life desperately craving something you’ll never get back. And then some little worm will come along to take the only thing you had left! The only thing that was  _ yours!  _ Darkwing Duck was  _ mine.  _ I may have lost the fame and the money and all my friends and family but Darkwing Duck  _ never  _ left me! Until  _ you…”  _

He growled the last word. Darkwing could feel Jim’s loathing in his bones. So he wasn’t prepared for Jim’s sudden lunge. Darkwing’s back slammed against the concrete roof, knocking the air out of him. Jim’s hands wrapped around his throat. 

“Doesn’t matter how strong you are when you can’t breathe,” Jim hissed. “See, you’re not the hero. You’re not the terror that flaps in the night. You’re a little boy playing dress-up. You’re not Darkwing D-!”

One of the first things, possibly even the very first thing that Drake Mallard learned when he studied Quack Maga, was the pluck. Which happens to be the exact move needed for a person to free themselves when someone’s got their hands around their neck. Jim barely registered that Darkwing was free while Darkwing was already rolling to one side and pressing Jim’s face down on the ground. Jim blinked as Darkwing rolled him up like a burrito with his own cape.

“Neither are you,” Darkwing panted. 

Jim was perfectly still for a couple more seconds then he started to wiggle violently.

“No! We’re not done! This isn’t over! No no no no-”

“You yelling isn’t going to undo what just happened,” Darkwing said, suddenly tired of Jim’s antics. “You just keep being a bitter ball of bile all you want. Jim-”

“Stop calling me Jim!” he demanded. “Jim Starling is dead! You killed him, you hack!”

“So what shall I call you instead? Captain Jerk? How about just plain Not-Darkwing Duck?”

Darkwing hoisted Jim over his shoulder, not caring that he kept flopping like a fish on the dock.

“I’m taking you to the police, Not-Darkwing Duck. Hopefully, you’ll get some help because you really need it, Not-Darkwing Duck,” Darkwing said, climbing down the rickety fire escape. “Hmm.. kind of a mouthful, right? Not-Duck? Light… what’s the opposite of a wing? Hey, what about Anti-duck?”

“That just sounds like I’m against the concept of ducks,” Jim grumbled. “I actually already had a supervillain name for myself. Not that you bothered to ask me. Ungrateful punk.”

“Oh?”

“ I am the most  _ fiendish _ terror that flaps in the  _ darkest _ night. I am the skunk that pollutes your air. I am Negaduck! ” he cackled.

“Now that’s just childish,” Darkwing muttered. “But fine, I’ll let the cops know.”

“Oh good, that means I don’t have to drag you to the station,” Detective Cabrera said. 

“You’re getting arrested too?” Negaduck exclaimed. He cackled again before Darkwing could answer.

“I promise I can explain-” Darkwing began.

“You’re not under arrest, Darkwing Duck,” she assured him.

“Ah, c’mon, babe!” Negaduck whined.

_ “¿Mande?”  _ Detective Cabrera said, daring Negaduck to repeat himself.

“I’m pretty sure that was a showbiz ‘babe’, not a gross, sexist ‘babe’,” Darkwing interrupted. “Right?”

Negaduck just shrugged. 

"Like there's a difference," he said. 

Back at the front of the theater, the fire was out and the building was still standing. The fire trucks were still there. Everything else was just as Darkwing had left it. Except the crowd was larger. Launchpad stood like a buoy surrounded by a sea of ducks. Mr. McDuck was with him. The little blue nephew had now multiplied into a handful of color coded ducklings. Blue, red, green and pink. And they were joined by what Darkwing assumed were the ducklings’ parents. Launchpad waved cheerfully and jogged over to Darkwing, Negaduck and Detective Cabrera.

“You’re ok,” he exclaimed. His face became serious when his and Negaduck’s eyes met. “Mr. Starling…”

“It’s Negaduck now,” Negaduck said in a surprisingly calm voice.

Launchpad shook his head. “I thought you’d died. We had a memorial for you.”

“I know, it was a really nice eulogy,” Negaduck said. Suddenly defensive, he said, “Like you wouldn’t want to know what people will say at your own funeral!”

“I’m actually amazed you got through security,” Darkwing said. 

“That robot was the worst,” Negaduck grumbled.

“Actually, it’s a drone,” Darkwing corrected. 

“Nerd,” Negaduck replied.

Detective Cabrera opened the back door of a police car. Putting handcuffs on Negaduck would look familiar to anyone that’s clipped a cat’s claws but involved much more scratching, biting and hissing. After Detective Cabrera tazed Negaduck for a solid minute, he calmed down and allowed himself to be stuffed into the back seat of the police car.

“Singed but…” Negaduck mumbled. His face pressed against the car window before he could finish. He stared out vacantly. 

"Hey, Launchpad, you want me to drive you and your friend to the police station?" Asked the young woman in aviator gear.

"Ah don't worry about it," Launchpad replied. 

"Ok," she said, not completely convinced. "We'll be here for a while longer. Uncle Scrooge is already fighting with the insurance company. I don't think they want to cover damages caused by acts of crazies."

Darkwing Duck sat in front of Detective Cabrera's desk like he'd been called to the principal's office. 

"Okay, let's start simple," she said, opening a manilla folder. "Name?"

"I am the terror that flaps…"

The rest of the intro died under Detective Cabrera's stern gaze.

"Darkwing Duck," he mumbled. 

"I don't think that's what your mother calls you," she said. "Want to give me your legal name or should I just write 'loose cannon vigilante' on the form?"

"Loose cannon vigilante, please," he said. 

Detective Cabrera arched an eyebrow. 

"Drake Mallard," he mumbled after clearing his throat. 

"Loose cannon," she said to herself as she wrote. "And what's your connection to the suspect?"

"It's… complicated," he said. 

"It's usually not as complicated as people think," she said. 

"Well, he hates me because he thinks I stole his job and I idolized him growing up," he replied. 

"Work acquaintances," she wrote out. "And you're sure he's Jim Starling?"

"Definitely," he said. 

"Ok, we can confirm that once we take his fingerprints," she said. 

Darkwing must have looked shocked. 

"Mr. Starling has been removed from a lot of studios," she explained. 

"Fire?" 

"No, just assault. Arson is new," she said. "Do you know anything about Launchpad McQuack?"

"What? Why?" He asked. "He didn't do anything."

"He did put the announcement of Starling's death in the newspaper and hosted his memorial. Do you believe Mr. McQuack had any knowledge that Starling survived the accident at McDuck Studios?" She asked. 

"Of course not," he answered. "He just wanted to give Jim a decent send off. He was his biggest fan."

"Ok, what about Drake Mallard?" She asked. "He took over Starling's apartment lease. And applied to the coroner for a death certificate. Do you think he knew he'd survived?"

"He didn't," he answered. "He wanted to put his affairs in order since Jim didn't have anyone else. He didn't want to see all his stuff just thrown in the dump."

"Darkwing Duck, you were at the studio when Starling almost died," she prompted. 

"Yes," he confirmed. "But I didn't-"

"Relax," she said. "I already know what happened at the studio. You kept Starling focused on you while the movie crew escaped and McQuack put out the fire. Do you feel responsible for Starling's actions?"

"Huh?"

"Both times that Starling has almost gotten people killed, you show up in your cape and mask. Now, I'm not asking because it's in the form but are you dressing up and fighting with Starling because you don't want him to do something he might regret or because you don't want innocent people to get hurt? I want to know if you're done popping up now that Starling is in custody. Or are you going to be another Gizmoduck sized headache?"

"Well no, I'm too slender to be a Gizmoduck sized anything," he preened. He concealed his beak with his cape. "I have a finesse that he lacks."

Detective Cabrera looked unimpressed. She shook her head.

_ "Ahora otro pollito,"  _ she muttered under her breath. 

Launchpad was at the police station when Darkwing came out of Detective Cabrera's office. Relief washes over them both when their eyes met.

"So you're not arrested?" Launchpad asked once they got into McDuck's limo.

Darkwing sat in front.

"No, they just asked me some questions," he said. "Mostly the detective wanted to know if I was going to be another Gizmoduck."

"Well, you could. Be a real superhero," he said. 

"What? Just because I'm strong, brave, look great in a cape and would be  _ way _ better at it than Gizmoduck?" Darkwing asked. 

"Why not?" Launchpad asked. 

"Jim's behind bars now. No one needs me," he replied. 

"He's not the only supervillain in the world," he said. "He's not even the only supervillain in  _ Duckburg. _ We need all the heroes we can get."

"I don't know, it could get…"

"Dangerous?" Launchpad suggested. 

Darkwing smiled. He knew he wasn't afraid of getting hurt. He always bounced back, no matter what the world dished out. For the past few days, the thing he'd really feared was ending up bitter and alone like Jim. After all, they both wanted the same things. Fame, glory, praise. Except that Jim… no, not Jim.  _ Negaduck  _ didn't care if his fame came from hurting total strangers while that had never occurred to Drake as a route to fame. 

So why not? The movie had left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't want to just be a little boy playing dress up. Fame wasn't good enough. He wanted to be famous for something he would always be proud of.

"Let's get dangerous," he said, grinning ear to ear.


End file.
